


Plan A wasn't supposed to work

by iwantcandy2



Series: Rarepair Requests [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Asexual Character, F/M, Friendships can be made, without getting laid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3648612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantcandy2/pseuds/iwantcandy2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cronus honestly never thought he would make it this far. In fact, he was counting on it.</p><p>But now he's got an undressed Damara and the sinking feeling that "asexual" isn't in her vocabulary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan A wasn't supposed to work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookwormally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormally/gifts).



> For the prompt:
> 
> These two I'd actually like to see pale. Cronus is a lot of bluster about doing to do but he's inexperienced. Damara actually seems to have a handle on what she's doing. Specifically I'd like to see a different take on Cronus. He talks a big game to cover up the fact that he's completely uninterested in sex. I want ace Cronus trying to be "normal" and surprisingly Damara takes him up on it. They get right to taking clothes off and Cronus can't do it. He can't. He splutters and shields and finally confesses. Damara thinks he's being rather dramatic but does reassure him that she doesn't think less of him. He thinks she's something swell and they watch something stupid and make terrible, judgmental comments about the people on it. Or something similar!

You’re standing with your pants around your ankles, wondering how you fucked up this badly. Or was is it succeeded this well? This is how it’s supposed to go, right? For normal people with normal social skills and normal relationships and not big fucking screw ups trying to hide what they really are.

“You nervous, boy,” Damara says, smiling like a shark. The meaning hides behind her accent, and you can’t tell whether it’s a question or an observation. Please gog, let her not notice that you’re shaking.

Why did no one tell you catcalls had a .001% chance of working? You would have never taken that risk. How did she even _understand_ what you’d said?

“You see ghost, huh?”

She laughs at you, and it burns like oxalic on an open wound. She places two fingers on your face. There, there, at the corners of your mouth.

“Show me smile, baby.”

She leans close, and you can smell her. Cigarette smoke and sandalwood lotion, and something deeper and heavier that you don’t have a name for. Whatever it is, it makes your stomach squeeze in an almost-gag. How embarrassing would it be if you threw up in her face? You can already hear the echoes of laughter, of people talking behind your back, pointing when they think you aren’t looking. Sure, things aren’t great now, but they can always get _worse._

Her mouth is creeping closer, approaching with the deadly inevitability of a tsunami. 

 _Do something, damn it!_ You scream internally. _Don’t just stand here and let it happen._

But another voice in the back of your head is snarling, calling you a coward. It sounds like Mituna and Porrim and Meenah and maybe if you just stop thinking you can get through this and you’ll finally be a real boy and people will like you.

Her lips touch yours, and it’s like swallowing a slug. You make a noise in the back of your throat, like a small animal in large amounts of pain. You clamp down on it, but it’s too late. She hears, and pulls back.

“Something matter?” she asks, frowning.

_Great, she’s already disappointed._

Your throat is still stuck, and you can’t form the words you really want to say.

_I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Someone please stop this._

She takes your hand, and now you’re sure she can feel the little shake that is rocking you apart.

“Ssssh, hey, no cry. Sit down, yes? Breath breath, nice and big.”

You aren’t crying, so _obviously_ that’s just language barrier on her part. Sure, there are tears in your eyes, but you are keeping a firm lock on them. You have this. Under. Control.

She guides you to the couch, giving you a light push so you fall backwards. Curling your knees into your chest, you simultaneously shiver and try to keep a firm grasp on your dignity. Damara scoops your pants off the floor and throws them at you. As you slide into them, grateful, like a confused fish sliding back into sea, she slips her own dress over her head, navigating it around her horns with practiced grace. Then she turns and looks at you, her mouth twisted in something that’s neither smile nor sneer.

“Okay, huh?”

That’s a question, and it’s aimed at you, but you have no fucking clue what it’s supposed to mean. For lack of a better response, you shrug. Damara smiles again, but none of her teeth show this time. It’s a less… _feral_ expression, and it helps settle some of the panic still churning in your stomach.

“I thinking…movie instead. Yes? Yes.”

She bustles around, switching on her television. She puts on some foreign film, but you’re still too buzzed on adrenaline to read the subtitles. She sits next to you, nonchalant, as if your social life wasn’t just ruined always and forever. Except, well…maybe not. Damara doesn’t speak nearly well enough to tell anyone. Maybe Rufioh, if they were still on speaking terms. So there’s that slim chance she could still ruin your life. But…well, she keeps glancing at you, meeting your eye, and smiling. You can tell she’s curious, but she doesn’t have the words to form the questions. So instead she sits next to you, not judging, just there.

It’s weird. But maybe…maybe she doesn’t care. Hell, maybe this isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to her in the bedroom.

She notices you’re staring, and she reaches out and pats your knee.

“Do good, Cronus? No more pants off, yeah?”

She chuckles, and it’s a good-natured sound, like two friends sharing an inside joke.

“I…I’m sorry about this,” you reply. “It’s, um…I just got cold feet, you know? Uh, it’s never happened before. I’m usually, you know, fine.”

You can tell she doesn’t buy your bullshit. Or maybe she just doesn’t understand enough of the words to be misled.

“So, you’re not gonna, like, _tell_ anyone, are you?”

She looks at you, and for a second you think that once again the meaning has gone over her head. But then she puts her thumb and index fingers to her lips, drawing them slowly across. You get her meaning loud and clear.

_My lips are sealed._

You feel relief crash over you, and you let out a breath you’ve been holding since your clothes came off. It’ll be okay. You give her a grateful smile. In return, she pats your knee, then turns back to the screen.

She looks perfectly content to sit next to you and watch this dumb movie. Like maybe she just wants to chill. Like you two could just sit in companionable silence, enjoying each others’ company, not feeling obligated to _do_ anything. It’s nice.

You could get used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this prompt. Hope I did it justice.


End file.
